Mistakes
by Got Tea
Summary: Grace should have known better, she really should. Happy Birthday Joodiff! xxx


**This is rated a high T, for more adult content - it that is not your thing then please do not read. **

**Many thanks to missDuncan for the speedy proofreading.**

**Wishing a very happy birthday to Joodiff. xxx**

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**Mistakes**

**…**

"I always knew it would be a mistake to play cards with you," sighs Grace, shaking her head in exasperation.

From the other side of the coffee table Boyd is grinning at her, victorious and rather too gleeful. "That's not my fault," he smirks, eyes gleaming. "Now take it off, Grace. Rules are rules."

"They are indeed," she acknowledges, eyes roaming his bare chest as he takes his turn to shuffle the deck of cards.

She leans forward, picks up her glass. Takes a slow sip of the delightful red she discovered quite by accident during an afternoon out not so long ago. Closes her eyes and savours the wine. Is well aware that the top button of her blouse is already unfastened, and that he's more than likely taking advantage of the view.

Peter Boyd is nothing if not a thoroughly red blooded male. And she loves it.

She's right. Returning her glass to the table she settles back against the cushions, sees the tightly controlled frustration hiding in his eyes. He won't tell her, of course, because that's all part of the game, but she knows exactly how much he already wants her.

"Off," he repeats, one eyebrow quirked as he reminds her of her loss and begins to deal a new hand.

"So fierce," Grace snickers, carefully starting to unfasten buttons. Slow and steady. Provocative.

She doesn't like poker, but with the power out and heavy rain falling with a truly relentless zeal, as part of an evening in surrounded by candles and wine, rummy seemed like a good option at the time.

Now that she's losing, though…

Still, rules are rules, and Grace dutifully lets her blouse slide slowly down her arms before arranging herself along the length of the incredibly comfortable sofa. Entirely smug, but masterfully hiding it, she watches as her lover fumbles the cards in his hands, his gaze inexorably drawn to the rich teal lace of her bra as she reclines lazily.

Boyd bought it for her, after she'd finished treatment and begun to recover. While she was still feeling so very raw and insecure about her appearance. She's still not quite sure about his motives, but the effect it seems to have on him…

It's for that reason it so rarely leaves her underwear drawer, special occasions being the usual prompt, but this morning she snagged it on a whim while he was still in the shower and it seems it was a good decision, if the heavy swallow she sees is anything to go by. There's a little less fabric to it than what she typically choses to wear, preferring comfort above all else in the course of normal day-to-day life, but it is elegant, pretty and it fits her exceptionally well. Does fantastic things for her cleavage. And, it seems, it conjures a wealth of erotic thoughts and desires in a certain tall, handsome detective.

"Fuck," he mutters, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair as he pushes her cards towards her. "That's not fair."

Smiling sunnily at him, and making sure she leans forward at just the right angle to pick up her new hand, Grace shrugs innocently, well aware of the ripple of flesh the movement causes. "How was I supposed to know you were going to take it into your head to play cards?" she points out. "I thought we were going out for a nice romantic dinner, not staying home out of the elements."

"True," Boyd concedes, his eyes still firmly fixed on her chest. He swallows again, and then looks up at her face. "This wasn't what I initially had in mind, but dinner was nice…"

There's a touch of endearing insecurity in him that makes her smile inwardly. "Dinner was lovely," she assures him. He's a good cook, and generally he knows it, but just occasionally ugly memories rear their heads and bite at his self-assurance. A vulnerability that only she sees, and that only makes her love him more.

Boyd's given her a terrible hand, and before she knows it she's on her feet, unbuttoning the soft jeans she was just about to change out of when their evening plans were suddenly diverted. There's a flash of hope in his eyes as the button gives way, the zip descending slowly in its wake, and Grace is sure she knows why; it is a matching set, after all. He's not disappointed, and it's very good for her self-esteem as his eyes cling to her, follow the slow descent of the denim all the way to the floor before sliding slowly back up to take in the newly revealed scrap of cloth left behind. He's a breast man, first and foremost, but he also loves a good pair of legs and though she can't claim much in the way of height, she can definitely hold her own when it comes to shapely lower limbs.

Still on her feet, Grace bends forward to collect the cards from the table, carefully concentrating on her task, fully well aware of the position of her assets in relation to Boyd's gaze. It's not until she begins to straighten, though, that she finds herself face to face with him as he leans forward, perched on the very edge of the armchair.

For a moment all she can see are the candle flames flickering in those dark eyes, and then suddenly she's being kissed. Deep and hot and hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his hand runs through her hair and around to the back of her head.

There's a fire roaring in the hearth and the room is far from cool, with the heavy drapes pulled shut and the door to the rest of the house closed, but even so, Grace feels a shiver run through her entire body as she kisses him back, biting his lip before he pulls away.

"Lose one more hand, Grace," he tells her, voice husky and deep, "and I can't promise to control myself any longer."

She puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes the muscle there just because she can and because she likes it, and then pushes him back towards his seat as she straightens, stance deliberately designed to make him stare. "As inviting as that prospect is," she all but purrs, "you know damn well that I don't like to lose."

Grinning madly, he settles back into the depths of the armchair, hands propped insouciantly behind his head, biceps deliberately flexed. "True," he acknowledges, eyes twinkling with amusement as now she looks, and keeping on looking. "Very true."

It's a protracted game, and as it draws on, Grace feels the tension rising steadily. She only needs one more card, but if she doesn't get it soon she knows exactly which bit of clothing he'll demand she remove next. But then, quite suddenly, he discards the three of spades and she grins in triumph, snatching it up and sliding it into place, dropping the king of diamonds and laying her flush of seven down for him to see.

"Jeans off," she demands imperiously, settling back into the cushions to watch. "Now."

Boyd obliges, and he does so with style. So much so, that as he sinks back down into his chair and prepares to shuffle what could be the deciding hand, she's genuinely tempted to forgo the rest of the game and just climb on top of him. Kissing him senseless and then riding him hard and fast until that wonderful release shatters them both is starting to seem like a much more appealing idea, especially given just how intense the spike of edgy need that's building inside her is.

A hand reaches out to her then, offers her new cards along with a ruthless smirk. He thinks he's going to win, she knows. It spurs her to sit up straight and adopt a tailor seat, legs crossed, ankles tucked neatly under her knees. Ignoring the way he's watching out of the corner of his eye, Grace begins to sort her cards, puts down the first of the game.

"Tell me something, Peter," she requests as they continue to play, well aware of the internal struggle her question will create for him. "Which would you prefer; watching me take my bra off myself and then sitting here out of reach, or having the chance to remove it yourself while I'm sat on your lap, my lips on yours and my hand around your cock, working you into a frenzy?"

He was already hard before she asked, that much she'd carefully studied as he revealed pale grey trunks to her. Now though, he takes a deep, deep breath, his muscles tensing as he holds his position. It's exciting to watch, and gratifying, and Grace feels a rush of heat roll through her body, edgy excitement gripping her tightly as the moment draws out.

"After you've won, you mean?"

Hiding her amusement behind a lazy, near indifferent smile, she reaches for her glass again and takes a slow sip, surveying her cards with feigned concentration. Takes her time answering him. Eventually shrugs. Puts her glass down again. "That's not an answer to my question."

"No," he agrees, getting to his feet and stretching, "it isn't." In three easy paces he steps around the table, drops down next to her.

"What are you doing?" asks Grace, frowning in suspicion. Boyd grins at her, and it's that devilish, wickedly smug expression that always, always bodes trouble. He doesn't bother answering her, instead he leans straight into her personal space until he can kiss her again, his lips hot and sweet against her own, his tongue reaching out to tease hers, probing deep into her mouth. She moans, she knows she does, particularly when his palm glides down from her shoulder and cups her breast, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

Screw the game, she thinks, dropping her cards on the floor and looping her arms around him, pressing against his body with abandon as the kiss continues, leaving her breathless and panting as he pulls back, nuzzles her neck, teeth nipping at her soft, delicate skin. He returns quickly, his mouth making hot promises against her own as his hands roam and now she can _feel_ the evidence of just how ready he is pressed against her thigh. She's about to work her hand between their bodies, to try and reach for him, to slip her fingers beneath the thin layer of his trunks when suddenly he pushes away from her. She growls in displeasure and reaches for him, trying to snare him before he gets too far, but Boyd just grins and keeps on moving, backing away towards his armchair.

Victorious, his eyes are filled with an unholy glee as he holds up his hand, the pretty teal lace of her bra dangling from his fingers.

"How's that for an answer, Grace?"

"But you – "

Before she can get the rest of her sentence out, he points to the coffee table in front of her. Four seven's and the ace, two and three of clubs are neatly laid out beside her wine glass.

Bastard.

Furious, she gathers all of the cards, shuffles them and deals, then lies down on her front along the length of the sofa, chin propped on one hand as she watches him. There's a hint of a frown at his obstructed view, and then a shrug as he collects his latest hand to see what he's got to work with.

Organising her cards, Grace chews her lip, thinking. Whoever takes this round will win; she's left in just her lacy knickers and he's in nothing but boxers.

She can't lose. She just can't.

He'll never let her hear the end of it.

A thought occurs to her, and she sits up, reaches for her wine again. Lazes back against the cushions and sips, appears intently focused on the game. Distraction. It might just work in her favour. And in stealing her bra, Boyd's left himself open to the easiest method of snaring his attention.

It works. The level of concentration he's showing towards the game definitely drops, because she can see out of the corner of her eye as she studies the card she's just picked up, deciding whether or not to keep it, that he keeps glancing up in what he must think is a surreptitious way. Glancing up and fixing on her body, below the level of her face.

It's going her way; she's left her options open and now she needs only two cards to win, with four possibilities that would match. And given what her lover is discarding, he's clearly not interested in the same numbers that she is.

She loves him. Absolutely, utterly adores him. He walked into her life when she was in desperate need of her friend, and despite how volatile that friendship proved to be, he's been nothing but loyal to her ever since.

Twenty years of the kind of mischief and chaos only the best of friends can share, and now very nearly two more as lovers, partners, a couple. They know each other so well that still having the ability to outmanoeuvre each other, to surprise one another is nothing short of a miracle, but also something they both cherish. They've grown out of the fury and tension that used to spark so easily between them, and if the last eighteen months have taught her nothing else, Grace has learned that they are truly made for one another, that they can survive anything together.

A card lands on top of the pile, and automatically she picks it up, adding it to her hand. She's still desperate to win because that's just the way she is, but it won't matter if she doesn't. They'll still fall into a deep well of passion and heat, still share in the glorious, coveted glory of the sublime mixture of sex and love that exists between them, that they have grown into as the years passed. Despite that, though, Grace shows nothing but steady concentration on her face, bites the corner of her lip in worried concentration as play continues, her thoughts expertly hidden behind her mask.

Boyd is getting more and more excited, she can tell. He's fidgeting in his seat and tapping his free hand on the arm of his chair – he's close to winning and desperately trying to rein in his glee. Sadly for him though, the next card that lands on the pile is exactly what she needs and, face maintaining her level of concentration and thoughtfulness, Grace takes it and adds it to her hand, carefully removing the one she no longer wants. Boyd crows in delight as she puts it down, snatching the thin sliver of laminated paper and thrusting it into the arrangement held in his hand before theatrically slamming them down on the table and smirking widely at her. He opens his mouth, no doubt to share his victory with her, but pauses when she shakes her head softly, her face giving nothing away to him.

"What?" he demands, piqued. "I've won. Now get those knickers off. I want to see you naked."

Grace leans back into the sofa, artfully making sure she is positioned in just such a way that the low, flickering light will emphasise everything she wants it to, yet still cast her in just a hint of mystery. Boyd groans, and inside she grins to herself, because as he stares and keeps on staring, she can clearly see just how hard he is, how ready for her he is.

"Strip," he orders, hands resting on the arms of the chair. "My victory, therefore my prize, and I want to see every last inch of you bare before me, want to imagine touching every centimetre of your skin before I come over there and take you, make you beg and scream my name."

Fuuck…

For just a moment she's tempted, she really is. Because by God she's edgy and taut with need now, and she absolutely wants him to follow through on his promise.

But it's not in her nature to back down, to let him have his way. Especially not when he hasn't won. Oh no.

Victorious, she slowly twists her wrist, reveals the reason she discarded the card he so wanted. "I do believe, lover," she drawls, "that it is I who get to see you naked first."

Boyd's eyes widen in shock, and Grace resists the urge to cackle. This time, she has well and truly played him. And it's all the more sweet and satisfying to see the look that briefly flickers across his face before he laughs, shaking his head as he dutifully stands up.

"Oh, Grace," he grins, hands resting on his hips as he gazes down at her.

"Yes?" she asks, the picture of innocence.

"The things you do to me…"

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**To Be Continued on AO3...**


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